This Is Why I Hate Gambling
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: Losing is still possible even if you stake your bet on a near certainty, as Alvin discovers the hard way. Proving the reliability of his skills in the coliseum is easy. Rematching Leia Rolando, however, is impossible. How can Alvin face her in combat again when he could have killed her last time? Answer: he can't. Alvin/Leia if you squint. I do not own Xillia or the cover art!


_Based on a true story, sort of. Playing as Alvin in ToX1, I challenged the Master Class in the coliseum without any idea what exactly that entailed. This is my idea of how the first match would have actually gone…  
><em>

* * *

><p>Oh, this is <em>not <em>fair.

Alvin stares at his first opponent in blank disbelief. How he got into _this _one is beyond him. At least, that's what he tells himself. More lies; they almost make him sick now that he's grown so used to the truth. But this time, they're all Alvin can put between himself and the crushing realization that this entire situation is his own damn fault.

_Hey, Alvin_, the spud had taunted a mere hour ago—obnoxious as usual, twirling in midair. _Bet you can't win the Master Class!_

_No deal_, Alvin responded, swatting the stuffed animal away from his face. _I know I can, and I ain't betting_. But when the rest of the team agreed to bet a not-so-trivial amount of gald on their own abilities as well, he grudgingly accepted that perhaps he had better follow suit. Anything to stay on their good side.

And when they'd forced Alvin to go first, he hadn't had any objections; he _was_ supremely confident in his abilities, after all. But now, his head fairly spun with doubts. He had anticipated only monsters; he hadn't thought he would have to face…

"Scared?" taunts Leia, bringing him back to the present, and he grits his teeth and runs forward as though away from something—shifting the grip of his sword in his unsteady hand. Could she be one of the coliseum's enchanted lookalikes, like the mock Chimeriad? (But then, could Alvin afford to take that chance?)

The boos from the crowd, jeers, calls for him to _do something _disappear as he charges, to be replaced by the sound of his own beating heart. Spirits, he remembers every word…

_Stop! _A frantic yell, accompanied by footsteps on hardwood. He growls deep in his throat like the dog he is, trying to shake loose the memory: Leia's staff meets his sword, and he levels his gun at her automatically.

Three shots in quick succession, just like before; she dodges each one with precise grace and comes at him once more. _Come on! _There was no time for asking why or begging Alvin for mercy; Leia simply took Jude and ran for his life. Not hers, nor even theirs; _his_. Always his.

Alvin grimaces at the memory of her selflessness—a poison to his lies—and ducks under Leia's staff, bringing his sword up with an instinctive Demon Fang: she twirls to the side. _Hey! _A feeble attempt at halting them in their tracks, as though words could make a difference. His weapons would have to do the talking.

The roar of the crowd becomes whispering leaves, and his body gradually, tentatively settles into the routine of combat. Another impulsive gunshot: Leia flinches as it narrowly misses her head, and Alvin sees her from across the grove, standing on bridges that sound hollow beneath their rapid footfalls.

_Stop right there_. As though that will hold her. Them. Her. Recovering quickly, she rolls past Alvin's follow-up Tiger Blade and dances around him warily, trying to spot an opportunity to strike. He can't let her have one; he _won't _let her have one. Battle is battle, even against… friends.

_I won't let you hurt him. I can't let you do this! _She's so… vulnerable—slender, lightweight, standing a head shorter than him. But Leia steadily faced the gun pointed at her heart, standing her ground with clenched fists.

Would it be kinder to kill her first? Alvin swallows a wave of sudden nausea as he remembers the thought crossing his mind, all too recently. But he lifts his sword in time to block Leia's flurry of attacks, and even retaliate. _It's over. You've got nowhere left to run!_

_ No, it's not over! Open your eyes already! _There was no fear in Leia's high voice as she clutched her staff—only sorrow and fury, echoed in her wide eyes. Alvin sees double as she twirls her weapon, but this time there is no muttered curse: _Damn you, Alvin!_

The memory of her condemnation spurs him onward to take the offensive, but as he swings his sword at Leia, it feels like some invisible puppeteer is pulling his strings; every motion seems heavy, overdone. _Every damn thing we did was pointless! _His sword rings against her staff, the blows driving her backwards.

_That's not true! _Swing, block, thrust, parry—leaping from railing to railing. Alvin grimaces as Leia's staff smacks into his side with the force of her imagined words: he sidesteps, trying more to escape her voice in his head than her attacks. _Listen! Everybody is still here! Elize is, and so is Rowen!_

Everybody. If Leia was here, were _they_ his next opponents? With what seems like a tremendous effort, Alvin brings his sword down towards Leia's head; she blocks it, now as then, and he remembers the desperation in her eyes. _I'm sure Gaius and the others are too! She saved our lives!_

Leia's grip slips and she backs up, breathing hard with no tree to catch her this time. Alvin walks forward slowly, retracing his footsteps, swinging at her just as he did before. He could have finished it then and there; he could have killed her as the deal demanded… but his desire to prove her wrong, to let loss triumph over hope, was too strong. Now, his hesitation is far less selfish.

_Saved our lives? _asked Alvin, leading Leia in a touchless tango over the bridges—approach versus retreat in the measured steps of battle. _For what? She's gone now, isn't she? _He gives a backhanded swing again, but she keeps her grip on her staff this time, letting his energy carry her in a new direction—rolling backwards, ready for the next move.

But Leia lost her hold last time, and Alvin freezes as he remembers taking the time to measure exactly the amount of force necessary to knock her to the ground with a backhanded punch. Leia takes the opportunity to charge at him with a battle cry. Alvin barely steps out of the way, but trips her as she passes: Leia falls to the ground, and he aims his gun at her head uncertainly.

Finally, Leia was out of the way; now for Jude. But she was on her feet again, determination blazing in her every aspect, before Alvin could find it in him to end Jude's young and sorry life. _No! _She struggled with his gun, but her slender fingers weren't enough to deter him, and he almost frightened himself at the ease with which he pushed her over again.

Alvin closes his eyes and fires… and misses, just like before, though this time it's because Leia rolls to the side and springs to her feet with new resolve, circling in her eternal dance. (She's so… _real_. Nothing like a monster.) Last time, he was almost relieved that the bridge had collapsed with the force of his missed shot.

_We're just plain old human beings_, Alvin had growled down at them both as they lay dazed on the ground, though his words were more a justification than anything else. _We can't be like her!_ And he made his way carefully down from on high, biding his time as troubled thoughts of Milla's will tormented him—trying to keep his mind focused on the fact that for as long as Jude stayed put, Leia would save him first.

Leia swings at Alvin's head, and he ducks, firing at her feet: she leaps into the air and brings her staff down with a cry, and he sidesteps, swinging at her side. And his breath catches as he remembers how tenderly Leia helped Jude up, and something inside him cracked and broke, and it cracks and breaks again every time he thinks of it. (It might have been his heart.)

The gunshot is only in Alvin's memory, he knows, but the sound in his mind is enough to make him miss a beat. He deserves the blow to the neck he cannot dodge. He deserves to almost trip over his own feet in front of the whole coliseum. He deserved those few sleepless nights he spent thinking he had killed her. He deserved every delirious moment of wondering whether he ought to do the same to himself.

Alvin's apology can never be adequate. It's just a simple vow to keep Leia safe, whether she wants him to or not—but, despite his unsatisfactory method of penance, she still smiles at him before every battle. _Protect me, okay? _The words are warm, but warning: Alvin had better uphold his promise, or there will be hell to pay. He knows.

(Leia jabs at his torso; he knocks the staff away with his blade, with some difficulty. His movement seems more sluggish now, more unwilling as he notes more and more the determination in her sparkling eyes and the way she presses her lips together in concentration. Could a mere arte really mimic that vivacity?)

But when they're linked, he can feel that of the two of them, Leia's the one with the knack for protection. She's the one with the instinct to defend her friends to the end. Alvin can only imagine what she senses from him: careless selfishness, preferring to eliminate the enemy and save himself. There's only so much of that he can blame on his mercenary lifestyle.

(With an effort, Alvin somehow manages to lift his unbearably heavy sword and slash at Leia's leg swiftly. Her gasp as the blade grazes her calf is almost physically painful to him.)

And when he inevitably fails in his self-assigned mission, Alvin forces himself to put thoughts of the enemy aside, because he knows from experience that if Leia wakes up with anyone but him tending to her—even her beloved Jude—she'll beat him up later for letting her fall. He tips a Life Bottle slowly into her mouth, watching the fray, twitching with the desire to fight… but he waits for her to awaken, kneeling by her side.

Because it's his duty, as her almost-murderer. (Leia swings at his leg, some sort of an arte amplifying the speed; he steps out of the way, barely, and fires his gun but misses by a mile.)

Because it's her angel-song that brings him back when he's lying broken on the ground. (Alvin swings at her weakly in an attempt to follow up; she jumps back, smiling somewhat coyly, and his heart almost stops at her expression. He's seen the same one on Presa's face countless times.)

Because he's linked with her so constantly that it's become instinctive for them to reach out for one another, even when they're not on the battlefield. (Leia's staff slams into his blade with such force that it almost touches him, but he repels her with a grimace just as he feels his grip slipping.)

_Because it's the right thing to do, _and Leia was the one who made him realize it.

Leia brings the end of staff towards his diaphragm like a pool cue, and the world seems to move in slow motion as Alvin is faced with a formless decision. Their eyes meet and lock; Alvin sees all the myriad ways he could defeat her spread out before him in Leia's innocent gaze.

And held within those viridescent depths, buried under layers of concern and curiosity, lies a personal question, one he cannot possibly answer: _what's wrong?_ His eyes widen as he recognizes Leia Rolando once and for all. Her life is real—a life he almost took away—a life he now values almost as much as his own.

"No more," murmurs Alvin, closing his eyes, and drops his weapons.

When Leia's staff slams into his chest, the strike is augmented by some arte or other, and Alvin blacks out for a fraction of a second. When he opens his eyes, he finds himself lying on the ground, unable to draw breath as the world spins dizzyingly around him.

"Alvin!" exclaims Leia's voice in his buzzing ears, almost drowned out by the announcer's proclamation of her victory. Quick and light footsteps skid to his side; a hastily muttered healing arte spreads its soothing light through his chest.

Alvin's lungs relax abruptly as the world stills, and he takes a few gulps of sweet dusty air before daring to open his eyes. He finds Leia kneeling next to him, leaning over him slightly—her countenance somewhere between furious and worried. "Are you okay?" she asks urgently, gently supporting him as he sits up gingerly.

He manages a nod; everything feels all right now, if a little shaky. "Just fine," coughs Alvin, getting to his feet with Leia's hand to help him, well aware he's probably barely audible over the announcer's booming declarations. "But," he adds, glancing over at her briefly, "how's about you go easy on me next time?"

Leia only rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but there's a tiny smile on her face; her expression softens as she looks up at him and searches his troubled gaze. Alvin can't help but marvel at the steady and reassuring strength in her every aspect, far beyond her tender years. To forgive him, even enough to look at him as mildly as this, is more than he himself can ever do.

And as they walk out of the arena, Alvin glances around apprehensively and more than a little self-consciously at the crowd—only to find that they've forgotten the outcome as if the fight had never happened, looking ever forward to the next match.


End file.
